Marching Casualties

 

Golden spires reach to the sky,

Buddha’s shame glossed over,

Dutifully the boys hang their heads in shame

Why are we here?

Orders.

 

Golden coffers flowing over,

Light a fire in a man’s sockets.

Weeping peasants crumble onto Afghan rugs,

 

 

Somewhere fat men sit in saunas,

Smoking Churchill cigars and laughing about adultery,

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